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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23155276">Consider Your Ways</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/emungere/pseuds/emungere'>emungere</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Terror (TV 2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Except Mr. Hickey because fuck that guy, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 11:29:06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,828</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23155276</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/emungere/pseuds/emungere</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The night before the Terror limped home to Greenhithe, Francis Crozier stood under the stars and rocked with the swells. Some part of him still expected disaster, a storm to capsize them, a fire in the hold, a leviathan to swallow them whole.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Captain Francis Crozier/Commander James Fitzjames</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>159</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Consider Your Ways</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Thanks to louiselux for the beta and for helping me figure out how they might have survived, which was honestly the hardest part.</p><p>This is the first chapter of a longer story. I’m posting it in the hope that it will guilt me into finishing the damn thing, but I think it stands all right on its own as well.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The night before the <em>Terror</em> limped home to Greenhithe, Francis Crozier stood under the stars and rocked with the swells. Some part of him still expected disaster, a storm to capsize them, a fire in the hold, a leviathan to swallow them whole. </p><p>“Sir?” A soft voice at his elbow. </p><p>“What is it, Jopson?” </p><p>“Captain Fitzjames is asking for you.” </p><p>“Has he eaten anything?” </p><p>Jopson hesitated. “A little.” </p><p>There had been a point in James’s recovery when his appetite had receded so far that food repulsed him. He could keep nothing down, the act of trying exhausted him, and he was often not lucid enough to see the need of it. Nothing the doctors said convinced him, and it had only been Francis’s barked orders that got him to accept spoonfuls of broth and gruel. </p><p>He was much recovered now, but Francis still worried, probably more than he ought. It was a difficult habit to break. He clasped Jopson’s shoulder as he passed and felt the bones. They were all still too thin, even those like himself who had started out with extra padding.</p><p>Francis went below and knocked on the door of James’s cabin. A voice from within, stronger than usual, told him to enter. James sat on the edge of his bed, dressed in his slops, though still barefoot. Sweat stuck a dark strand of hair askew across his forehead. His face had some color in it, and not the hectic flush of fever. He appeared well enough, in fact, that Francis refrained from asking him about his dinner. </p><p>“Don’t tell me I should be in bed,” James said. </p><p>Francis walked closer and leaned in to make a show of examining him. “You don’t look too dreadful.” </p><p>“Thank you very much. I’m glad to hear it, since I intend to go up on deck. And don’t say you’ll send for Dr. Neil,” he added as Francis opened his mouth to say that very thing. </p><p>“Dr. Goodsir then,” Francis countered. </p><p>“If five minutes in the open air will kill me, I’d best get it over with.” </p><p>“Can you manage the climb?” </p><p>James rubbed a hand across his chin. “We’ll see. I can walk. I’ve been practicing when you flock of mother hens leave me alone. What I cannot do is find my boots,” he said, peevish. “Did you order them hidden on purpose?” </p><p> “I’m not that foresighted. I imagine that was Jopson.” </p><p>“Is that what he did to you?” </p><p>“I had no thought of going anywhere, and I doubt I could’ve got my boots on without help.” </p><p>“You walked half a mile to come to the carnivale.” James looked down as he said it, as he always did when the carnivale was mentioned. He most often brought it up himself. Francis suspected it was never far from his mind. </p><p>“I wanted to see it.”</p><p>“Good that you did. Considering.” </p><p>“I’d say so. I would’ve missed your disguise if I hadn’t.” </p><p>That got James to look up at him and blink twice, mouth softening from its grim horizon line. It seemed a good place to leave it for the moment. </p><p>“I’ll find Jopson,” Francis said, but a knock on the door followed hard upon his words. He opened it already knowing what he would find. </p><p>Jopson held up James’s boots. “Thought you might want these, sir. I was just giving them a quick polish.” </p><p>“Thank you, Lieutenant.” James managed to make it sound like a rebuke without changing his tone at all, a skill which he often seemed to deploy by accident, though perhaps not this time. </p><p>Jopson lowered his gaze. Francis took the boots from him and sent him off. He pushed the door shut and drummed his fingers across the smooth wood before he turned to James again. “Was that necessary?” </p><p>“I only said thank you.” </p><p>Francis looked at him. </p><p>James lifted a hand and let it fall an inch to the bed beside him. “He is a lieutenant. What’s he doing with my boots at all? Or anyone’s?” </p><p>Francis crossed the room to sit beside James, <em>Terror</em> creaking gently under his feet. “He is not the only man on this ship doing more than his own work.” </p><p>“I know that.” James lent his elbows on his knees. His shoulders rose and fell, and he let out a breath. “He seeks to be useful, as he always does. For all the good I’ve been on this voyage, I can hardly fault him. Have the rest of the Enterprises gone back?” </p><p>“They have. The last two just three days ago.” With all the good will in the world, on both sides, the Enterprises and the Terrors had never meshed. It had been a relief to both when they were no longer needed.  “I can’t and don’t fault any of you. Now get your boots on and let’s have a stroll before you use up all your energy fretting.” </p><p>“I’m not that bad.” It was a half-hearted denial, issued as he dragged his boots closer and shoved the first on. </p><p>Francis watched him but saw no wince as he bent. The reopened wounds on his side would be pitted scars where Dr. Neil and Dr. Goodsir had excised chunks of infected tissue, but they seemed to be healing at last. The worst cases, including Mr. Blanky, had been moved to the <em>Enterprise,</em> but Dr. Neil had come to tend James on the <em>Terror</em>, sometimes twice daily, judging his state too precarious to move him. </p><p>“A fortnight back, you spent a half hour telling me how concerned you were about the trim on your new waistcoat.”</p><p>James glanced at him sidelong. “You’re making that up.” </p><p>“I most certainly am not. Do you want the details? I could tell you every fabric that went into the damned thing, if it ever existed.” </p><p>James shoved his other foot home. He rubbed his fingertips over his knees, pressing in under the kneecap. “Was it green silk?” </p><p>“It was.” </p><p>“Then I’m afraid it did exist. I forgot it at the tailor and did not think of it again until we were two days underway. It’s strange. I worried about it for months, on and off. I’d chosen the colors so carefully, and it cost an absurd amount, more than I could afford, and it was only half paid for. Now I find it difficult to think of anything that might matter less.” He stood. “Shall we go?” </p><p>“Where is your coat?” </p><p>“It is late summer, Francis. I promise you I won’t expire with the first breeze.” </p><p>Francis had his on, for it was in fact early September and an unseasonably chill night, but he didn’t argue. He went up first to lend a hand if needed, but James made the climb steadily. </p><p>The wind hit them as they emerged, nothing like the Arctic gales but enough to make James wrap his arms about himself and then drop them just as quickly with a glance at Francis, who pretended he had not seen. </p><p>The crew of the second dog watch turned their heads as they passed. Hartnell even came over to express, haltingly, his pleasure that Captain Fitzjames was feeling better. Those within hearing distance murmured agreement. James nodded his thanks, quietly pleased, and they passed on. </p><p> The <em>Terror</em> was not the fastest ship in the fleet, but she was going well for what she was. A fine mist of sea spray speckled them as they reached the foremast. James put a hand against it and leaned his weight into it, shoulders stooped. </p><p>“That’s enough, I think,” Francis said. “We ought to get you back in bed.” </p><p>James shook his head. A gust cut across the deck, and he turned from it. </p><p>Francis shrugged out of his coat and held it out. “Then get this on at least.” </p><p>“I’m perfectly well.” </p><p>“James. You can take my coat and take my arm, and we will walk a little longer, or you can go back directly. Choose.” </p><p>James hesitated, head turned away. Another fine spatter of spray ghosted past.  He reached for Francis’s coat and took it with a jerk. He swung it around his shoulders and held it shut, closing his eyes for a moment. His face lost some of its strain. </p><p>“Better?”</p><p>James lowered his chin in a quick nod. </p><p>“Good. Then get into it properly and we can walk back to the quarterdeck.” </p><p>That got him an exasperated look. “Is that an order, Captain?” </p><p>“Indeed it is, Captain. Quick as you like.” </p><p>James gave in and got himself bundled into Francis’s coat, buttons done up to his chin. When Francis offered his arm, he took it without complaint. After a step or two, he even let himself lean on it. </p><p>“Just like taking my granny to church on Sunday,” Francis said. </p><p>That won him a soft breath of amusement from James. “You do seem to have had some practice cajoling the infirm.” </p><p>“My granny rarely lost her boots, of course.” </p><p>“Stolen, they were stolen.” </p><p>“Mind the steps now,” Francis said. </p><p>They climbed up to the quarterdeck. James walked to starboard, which put him in the wind again, though he didn’t seem to feel it as sharply now. He did stay close, and Francis turned to shelter him as much as he could. </p><p>“You must be cold,” James said. </p><p>“I’m all right.” </p><p>Behind them, the dark bulk of the <em>Enterprise</em> blocked the stars, a ship-shape void lit by swinging lanterns. Despite the wind that cut through his shirt, Francis found he was happy to stand there with James leaning into him and might be happy to continue so all night. </p><p>James pulled the coat closer about him. “I wanted to be on deck with you when we reached Greenhithe.”</p><p>“I’d like that as well.” </p><p>“I am appallingly tired,” James admitted. </p><p>“You needn’t decide until the morning. And we can get you a stick to lean on. You ought to have one anyway now that you’re up and about.” </p><p>“I hope I am,” James said. “I didn’t want to be carried off the ship. I couldn’t sleep some nights for thinking of it, though I suppose there are worse things.” </p><p>“Ross tells me we should expect a hero’s welcome tomorrow,” Francis said. “I don’t know if you remember, but he sent the <em>Investigator</em> on ahead. It will be in all the papers.” </p><p>Francis had thought it might please him, but James looked more ill at the idea than he had all evening. “No one will care so much, will they?” </p><p>“I’m sure he exaggerates,” Francis said, though Ross was not given to exaggeration. “Shall we go back?” </p><p>James pressed his fingers into Francis’s arm. “Not yet, please. It’s such a dim hole of a world down there. Everything closes in. One forgets the sky.” </p><p>“I know it,” Francis said. “A little longer then.” </p><p>He watched James tip his head back and look upward, past the furled sails of the mizzenmast, to the wind scoured stars.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>emungere.tumblr.com</p></blockquote></div></div>
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